


Theon Greyjoy: The Warm Lights

by p_totel



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M, Fluff, Multi, Past Abuse, Past Torture, Teen Romance, ill edit as i go, this is just my light happy fic place
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-16 18:28:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28835619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/p_totel/pseuds/p_totel
Summary: a place for me to drop my other Theon pairings, other than my usual dark stuff. balanced... as all things must be 🙏1. Irritation - Sansa can't handle the over-confident Greyjoy ward.2. Serving - Theon serves Sansa. Sort of.
Relationships: Theon Greyjoy/Sansa Stark, will be added as i go i gues :P
Comments: 6
Kudos: 20





	1. Irritation

Sansa found many things unnerving.

Arya's pathetic excuse for embroidery (she doesn't even try!), Rickon's loud chewing over table, the ugly mud snow became when soldiers would trample over it. The list was countless. It went on and on and on but...  
Perhaps the most unnerving thing of them all was Theon Greyjoy.

It was hard to put the finger on what exactly irritated her about him - not because it was something subtle or barely noticable - but because it was so loud and all-encompassing. Theon Greyjoy as a whole was the most irritating thing about Theon Greyjoy.

It was the too loud bragging, it was crass jokes, it was his posture. It was the way he held his chin like he was above everyone else. It was the way he laughed at things that weren't even funny.

It was the way he flirted with all those girls.

"That's such a lovely dress, Jeyne." She heard him purr down the corridor as she stepped in it, "Did you make it yourself?"

Jeyne awkwardly giggled, like all the girls he spoke to. Sansa rolled her eyes at the sound of that shy, youthful flert - a passtime for the jester who had positioned himself above all of them. Her best friend was such an idiot. Falling for the first sweet word from her father's ward.

"Jeyne." Sansa took a bold step forward and called her out. "The septa is looking for us."

Her eyes met Greyjoy's - the young man leaned over the smaller girl, his hand on the dark stone, with the confidence of a dolled up peacock. He flashed Sansa a wild grin; like he expected her there. Like she walked in some kind of a trap he had personally set up for her.

Jeyne looked at her slightly guilty, slightly angry - unhappy by the quick end of the little love game, and wringled out from the Ironborn's shadow.

"Lady Stark." Greyjoy smiled and nodded at her. "You don't have to be jelaous. I will always have time for you. You just have to ask."

Sansa's cheeks went as red as the leaves of the Godswoods Tree in fury. She grabbed her friend for the hand and dragged little Jeyne Poole away from the dark-haired tempest that stood there, arms crossed on the back, smiling.

***  
"Sansa?" Theon grabbed her shoulder that evening. Everyone else forgot about them as they pressed on, towards the dining hall, but his hand held her back.

"Don't talk to me."

She tried to sound as highly as possible, and as resolved as she could, but her voice wavered just a bit. In front of Theon Greyjoy even a slight view of insecurity was like a papercut in the sea: a drop of blood in front of a big shark with profound nose for it.

"Did you really get upset earlier?" He grabbed her again and grinned.  
It graced him like some sly fox, there for a joke. He even had the little moustache to go with it.  
She would give a kingdom for his goddamn smile to be smashed with a hammer in that second.

"Just at how stupid Jeyne is." She swallowed and met his gaze. "Your business is your business. I have nothing to do with you. With either of you."

"Well, she is the one I'm looking for anyway. Where is Jeyne?"

Sansa immediately looked away and took a bold stride forward. Her cheeks were red, her eyes wet. Why Jeyne? What did he see in her? She was so - ordinary! They were best friends, sure, but if he could choose between her and Sansa then- why did that man have to mix his fingers into everything? Why couldn't he let her have just one thing?  
He had all those other girls.  
Why couldn't she have someone for herself?

His strong arm yanked her back again, and this time she yelped.

"So it did upset you." Theon laughed lowly and grabbed her wrists, spinning her around and forcing her to look at him. She tried to wrestle out of his grip, but it was like made of stone.

This was the first time she wished she could swing a dagger or a sword like Arya. It was foolish to expect some honourable prince to save her when one of the kind was in front of her - doing the exact opposite.

"It- just! Agh!" she tried to pull away again but to no avail, "One day we will be married, and you are here, seducing my friends and sleeping with- with whores!" She screamed in anger, all frustration breaking through.

Suddenly the struggle stopped and Theon stared at her quietly. Sansa felt how her eyes filled with tears. Did she- just say that? Out loud? In front of... him?

And then Theon burst out laughing.

She felt like she was just dumped a ton of shit on.

"Married? Married?!" He laughed, bright teeth wide spread. "We will be married? Oh why, have you chosen your wedding dress yet?"

"I-" Sansa stared at him in disbelief, "I- no! I meant-!"

"You meant we are getting married. Is Robb going to be our witness?"

"I meant- I meant there is a chance!" She tried to argue, her cheeks flushed, "There is a chance! You are my father's ward and-"

"Of course, we can't have bard sing only Northern songs. We will have to throw in some sea shanties as well." Greyjoy continued.

"I- you are twisting my words!" Sansa shouted and this time succeeded in breaking free from his hold. "You know what - screw you! Stop! Stop laughing!"

Theon's laughter came to a slow stop, bright smile dancing on his lips.

She wished she could smack it off. Her mother was always right about the young man. He was a colossal prick.

"I am not laughing anymore, Sansa." He took her hand gently this time and she stubbornly looked away. But she didn't fight.

"It's a possibility." He said, his voice calm but light, "You're not the first person to bring it up." There was a contemplative sigh.

It was obvious Robb had put in the same request as Sansa did - for his friend to calm down a bit, to try and think of the future. Her brother was good at that. At thinking about the future.

"I don't care about Jeyne." At last he broke the silence, still holding her hand, "You know I don't."

"Well I do." Sansa mumbled and extinguished the jelaous (but satisfied) flame in her heart. "Don't do that to her. She's a good girl. She is not one of your wenches."

Theon nodded, this time with just a slight smile; one she rarely got to see. A genuine one.

"I won't, Sansa." He took a step back and her hand slipped out of his. She felt sad, all out of sudden, wanting to reach back, to reach for him and hold his hand and to maybe even-  
But she didn't.  
She stayed put, and she didn't even notice that in all that rumble she had been pushed to the wall with no means to escape.

"Anyway, let's go." He pointed towards the dining hall, "You still have to go weave your wedding dress."

She hit him on the shoulder and he laughed at it, a light show of affection.  
They walked on; Theon bright and crisp, and her, flushed from anger, irritation and-  
something warm in her heart.

\---

(a little doodle i did!)


	2. Serving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theon serves Sansa. Sort of.  
> Sansa as The Queen in the North, Baelish as her hand and Theon... as emotional support.

Theon felt about as useless as a flopped dirty mop at the Winterfell.  
Escaping with Sansa was the last useful thing he had done, actually, and then, once the castle was retaken, he was just a nuisiance. Sansa suddenly had so many responsibilities and he could see her grow darker every day, people around him rushed, doing their best to prepare for the winter, and Theon just sort of...

existed amidst all that.  
Like a broken chair for people to trip over.  
Or an old closet, dusty, broken, and not even good to be looked at.

He felt like a dog at Ramsay's keep, but at least he knew what he had to do. There was always something to do at Dreadfort, whether it was serving him or cleaning the floors - Reek knew what his tasks were, and most importantly -  
Reek had a master.

But Theon stood in the Winterfell yard like a lost puppy now.  
His owner was there no more.  
There was nobody at whose feet Theon could whimper or sob or sleep at.

And Sansa didn't particularly seem interested in being _that_ for him.  
She didn't have time to spare to groom a broken thing like himself, not when the army of the dead was marching at them and there were Lords and horses to feed, defenses to strengthen and men to organize.  
Ramsay somehow always had time for him.

So - in the end, Theon felt incredibly useless.  
***

That evening, Sansa dismissed her council with an unnerved sigh, rose on her feet and marched off to her bedroom.  
Theon stood there lost, watching her trusted Lords take leave. He never understood why she insisted so much on him being there.

"You are a part of my council, Theon," she would say and firmly lock their eyes whenever he tried to wriggle his way out of it. "I need you there."

So Theon usually just stood near the door and poured wine for the Lords when he sensed he should. That way at least he did something he knew how to do. Sansa complained in the beginning, but in the end, decided to meet him halfway. It was a compromise of sort, despite her annoyed looks whenever he would randomly shiver or bow his head down and hurried to fill her cup.

He waited for the rest to exit before taking his leave as well - but when the others did, one man stayed behind.

Petyr Baelish.

"Theon." he smiled and approached Greyjoy with a light step, "You never talk much during these. Why is that?"

This was the first time anyone actually spoke to him. It was always disdainful looks and muttered gossips; _He is just Queen's pet_ , and _She is keeping him out of pity_. He didn't lie to himself. He knew very well what they whispered behind- no, not even behind his back! - but in front of him.

Except Baelish never did that. Whenever Theon would catch him staring, his look was always crystal clear, without judgement or pity. He figured Littlefinger had seen worse, anyway.

"I- I don't have anything to contribute." Theon muttered.  
"That's not true." Littlefinger sympathetically cut him off. "You have plenty to contribute. Maybe not in the war room but... Walk with me."

Just like that, Theon felt a hand on his back push him forward. Petyr slowed down his pace to let the pretty much toeless Theon keep up. They walked slowly, taking measured steps.

"I don't even know why she is keeping me." Theon mumbled at last. There was something in the air, making him want to tell his misfortune to the man next to him. He didn't even care if Baelish could use that information; _what would he even use it for?!_ \- he just wanted to speak. "You are her Hand. She doesn't need me."

"Oh, don't be like that Greyjoy. She likes you. You make her happy." Littlefinger's mouth curled in a little smirk. "That should be your priority. Keeping her _satisfied_."

"I-..." it took Theon a few seconds to understand what Littlefinger was aiming at. He bowed his head down and his cheeks went flush red. "I can't do that." he whispered shamefully.

Baelish simply embraced him more, subtly urging him to continue.

"When- Ram- He- He took... you know. He took..." Theon stopped and rose his head, flashing Petyr a terrified look; "He took _that_." he whispered, like he is saying some incredible secret. He couldn't even say it. He couldn't say what Ramsay took out loud.

"I know." Petyr smiled. "But why would that matter?"

"Well-," Theon fumbled with his finger, "How should I- without- you-."

"I ran a branch of best bordels Westeros has ever seen." Baelish grabbed him for shoulders, forcing Theon to face him. "The best. Trust me. Creme de la creme clientelle, politicians, lords, merchants, kings. All of them in my palm."  
Littlefinger's eyes suddenly shined with a weird sparkle which scared the poor Greyjoy. These words sounded weird and dangerous, but he swallowed anyway and submissively nodded.

"So, of course, you can imagine my establishments had a quite wide array of... clients with... unique proclivities. Which, of course, I did my best to provide."

Theon gulped and decided to push down in his mind all the ideas of what Petyr Baelish actually provided in those establishments. He had no doubt even Ramsay could find something of his choosing there.

"Old, young, male, female... and... well. You'd be surprised how wanted eunuchs were." Littlefinger's thin lips spread into a sly smile. "Some noble ladies would've paid quite a coin to play with you, Theon Greyjoy."

***

He slid in Sansa's chamber that night, meekly and silently, like a shadow. He learnt long time ago how to step softly so he doesn't attract attention. Especially his Master's.  
But Sansa was different.

"Pssst. My Queen?" Theon knelt next to the bed and gently nudged her hand. Sansa didn't budge, so he tried nudging her again. His face was already flushed red. Was he really doing this?

"Wh-" his next little nudge finally gave some results. With eyes still tight shut, Sansa propped herself up on the pillows and gave an annoyed sound. "Wha-"

"It's me." Theon quickly whispered, ducking his head between his shoulders.

"Theon..." she sighed, rubbing her eyes, "It's well past midnight. I- what do you need? Is something wrong?" her voice was tired and seemingly irritated. Theon felt courage leave him.

"N-no. I just-."

"Theon." she cut him off, this time with more force; "I have to get up early. And I have a lot to get done tomorrow. You know I care for you but-..."

"No. I- I have to show you something." he finally dared to pull himself up to the bed. "A-and it's not a dead squirrel this time." he hurried to add. Both of them remembered the past... _incident_. For some reason, dead squirrels worked very well as a gift for Ramsay, but when Sansa woke up to Reek next to her bed with the rodent in his mouth, she screamed so loud even men in Castle Black must've heard her.

She sighed, eyes still glued shut.

 _Just believe in yourself. You are not the first or the last cockless man to please a woman._ he heard Littlefinger's voice in his head. He nodded to himself. He can do this.

He pushed his head beneath the pelt and climbed onto the bed. This seemed to alarm Sansa who immediately woke up and tried to sit up properly.  
"Theon!"

"No, no... shhh." he whispered and spread her legs open. He could do it. He won't back down now. His heart was beating loudly - and filled with blood and courage. He decided: _this is happening._

"I have to show you something." he repeated himself again and slowly rose her sleeping dress. "I- I learnt-..." and then he was pulling her smallcloth down.  
Due to lack of screaming and protesting, he took Sansa's sudden stillness as an approving nod. She sank back in the fluffy pillows. He could feel her tense legs relax, muscle go soft. He was doing good so far.

The part that worried him was just coming. Baelish did suggest they get some girl to practice on but Theon was... it would feel like betrayal. No matter that it's just 'practice'. And well - he couldn't even look at anyone else except for a chosen few people, let alone push his nose near them. Even with Littlefinger, he kept his gaze down the entire time, too nervous to look up.

 _"Look,_ Littlefinger said at one point, _"Don't think of yourself as a man. Think of yourself as a good dog. That fits you better anyway. You are there to serve and make her feel good. Not to prove your Ironborness."_

That line of thinking helped. He tried to focus on it: this wasn't about him.  
This was about Sansa.

He parted her legs more and pushed his nose in.  
***

Next morning, when Sansa woke up, she found Theon curled on the floor. With a soft sigh, she decided not to interrupt him. She simply grabbed one of the pelts and covered him with it, before getting dressed up and leaving her chambers.

Breakfasts in her room were a thing of past, breakfasts at dining halls also; there was only eating with her advisors, planning and counting but-  
this was the most relaxed she had felt in long, long time.

Baelish was already waiting with his accounting book in the hall, and his sly smile. This was going to be a tough day.

"Umbers are arriving today, yes? With horses and food they can carry?" she asked, skipping all the empty 'good morning' and 'how did you sleep' courtesies.

Baelish quickly nodded. "Yes, Your Grace. We are talking about 20-25 vagons, which include other material things. I urged them to send some men to The Wall, the ones they can do without. We can't keep everyone here."

"Good. I want to host as many people as possible. But if the Night's Watch doesn't hold... well, it's bad luck we will either." she said darkly. "Oh, and..." she suddenly stopped.

She turned her head towards the small man, her blue eyes met the grayish green pair - "Thank you. For the last night."

Petyr smiled back.  
"All for you, My Queen."


End file.
